


Nothing is Built to Last Forever

by Canibananabalism



Category: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Oh, Short Story, to bad, you wanted fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canibananabalism/pseuds/Canibananabalism
Summary: Nothing is built to last forever, certainly not a John Hamish Watson without his William Sherlock Scott Holmes.
Relationships: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Nothing is Built to Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so any and all feedback would be wonderful as long as it’s constructive.

Nothing is built to last forever. He always told himself that whenever one of his relationships ended. He never stopped to really think about everything going on around him, never stopped to breathe, never took a break before moving on. When one woman left him, another took her place and so on. He never truly took in what was really going on, never remembered their names, barely remembered their faces. All he knew was that it wasn’t enough. Flimsy relationships that barely lasted a week and one-night stands meant less to him than to most. It would never be enough for him.

This was nothing new to John. In fact, it never has been. He was so close. He almost had it. He was right there and he missed it. He almost had what all his past lovers told him he never could have.

Nothing is built to last forever, but he tried to make it so. He tried to keep him forever, but he fell. No, not fell, jumped. He wanted so badly to get away from John that he jumped off a building. John meant nothing to him, but all John wanted was his heart. Not all of it, just a little bit. A tiny sliver of his heart was all that John really wanted, what he told himself he wanted, what in reality, he needed.

John almost did it. He almost said it. Almost said those words. He was going to, really, but he couldn’t. He had all the time in the world to say it, but he can’t say it now, won’t say it now. Not while the man who had his heart, who stood by him, who went through thick and thin with him, stood before him as a liar. Liars didn’t deserve the words “I love you”. Not when they gain your trust, your friendship, your heart, just to take it away and smugly insult you when they come back.

What did Sherlock expect, a warm welcome, after what he did, no. He didn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve it, not from John. He left John behind, in the dark, in the cold flat to whither away and die all alone. John wasn’t that forgiving. He tried, he really did. He waited for him to come home for so long, took drugs to keep himself awake, broke himself down just to stay alive, and right when he starts to move on, at least he thought he was moving on. Sherlock comes back and takes it all away.

He took away his happiness, and right as he was starting to get it back, he shattered it to pieces. John couldn’t think clearly anymore, the drugs taking away every bit of sanity, peace, and humanity he had left. Sherlock took away his happiness and left him to die. He watched from the shadows as John clawed his way up from the depths up his own hell. He wouldn’t let Sherlock get away with that, he wouldn’t let him show up out of nowhere just to hurt a broken man with nothing left. He let Sherlock use his fake charms and smug smile to win him over. Maybe in another life, but not here.

John sat in his chair, staring at the wall covered in bullet holes, a dazed expression on his face. Thinking back on it all, this didn’t seem like a very good idea, but at the same time it felt like the only option. It felt like he was finally going to win. John thought it funny how he only really thought about his life until it was to late to save himself. He didn’t think of Mary, not once, barely remembered her. Mary was just another relationship not built to last. He laughed. Not some beautiful, joyous laugh like the ones that you hear when the person you love the most tells a stupid joke, the kind of laugh you hear when you have nothing left but the laughter. Loud and terrible. Enough to cause all those who might hear it to scream or at least cower in fear. He sounded insane, pitifully so, but that wouldn’t matter, not when the laughter belonged to a dead man.

Nothing is built to last forever, certainly not a John Hamish Watson without his William Sherlock Scott Holmes. In his last moments he wondered how long Sherlock could last without him. As the drugs clouded his mind, he realized, he didn’t truly care. He was going to win this time, not Sherlock.

Here he couldn’t have Sherlock to himself, not like this, not the way he wanted. There he could have him forever. He would wait, just not for very long.


End file.
